Phantasmagoria
by Blood in Water
Summary: He's left behind something long past unfinished. Between insanity, and surrealism, is this love more than simply phantasmic?[EdxWin]
1. Exchange

**Phantasmagoria**

**Chapter 1; Exchange**

Bane; "Okay! I changed the name! It is now; Phantasmagoria, which is AN ACTUAL WORD. However, it is my word. And it is not to be stolen. It means 'a series of events or characters in a dream'. Pretty, eh?" -purrs-

* * *

Bane; "I'll have you know that I've had this planned for a month now." -.-' "It wasn't inspired by anything on the show."

A; "Oh, stuff it already."

Bane; "Anyway, I'll update only if I receive some reaction to this short 'prologue'."

A; "Yeah, and as for warnings; mild language, gritty angst (big surprise), _character death_, and severely morbid situations."

Bane; "But no autopsey…"

-anonymous cheers-

Bane; 0.o

A; -sadistic smirk-

Bane; -in desperate retaliation attempt- "But no lemons."

-curtains close before any real brutality is revealed-

* * *

Crimson pooled beneath his crumpled form. He had done it; achieved the impossible. But somehow, the victory was lost on the agony-ridden being. He'd never live to see his recreation adapt once again to his own real world. Touch, taste, warmth, love, and bittersweet pain. That was the way of it; equivilant bullshit, once again. He'd won it, but he'd lost the privelege to really watch it. Alchemy's basic law was like telling a child she'd won a cookie, but making her keep it in a box until it molded over.

The solitary ache in his stomach was spreading now, finding nerve endings and reviving dis-connected veins. The blood would begin fully pumping again, but the snapped vessels would drown his body in toxins and unwanted fluid. What a perfect way to end his _complete_ and _utterly_ **_satisfying_** life. But it was his own damn fault for tampering with the science.

It would be hours before the figure beside him would wake. He hadn't the strength, nor the heart to leave any note by way of consolation. The boy would find his body, and would find his own explanation.

_And life_, he mused in silence as his last passing thoughts grew dim, _will go on…

* * *

_


	2. The Beating of Deadened Hearts

**Phantasmagoria **

**Chapter 2; The Beating of Deadened Hearts**

It wasn't his fault, really. He had no idea. The man poured himself a reasonable dose of coffee by way of morning caffeine. He was even partaken to a light spell of humming. As it was, it had been a good day for him.

He had mailed off the bills just the day before (and no more were to return for another month), he'd gotten a rare close spot in the military personel parking lot, and he had expertly avoided Hawkeye and her paperwork. (Though this last one would reverse itself within due time.)

He strode rather confidently towards his office, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Abruptly, however, a smooth voice behind him caused him to pause.

"Hey, Colonel Bastard."

_Full Metal_, he thought despairingly, _and here I was thinking my morning was going perfectly…_"I'm really not in the mood for unintelligable babbling from a midget, thanks." He responded coyly, still not turning around.

"Height's not the issue. Just do me a favor, okay?"

"What's the favor?"

After a moment of hesitation, he heard Edward scoff to himself, but not soon after he received his answer.

"Will you take care of Al and Winry for me?"

"Full Metal—what?"

He began to turn, but Edward's protest stopped him.

"—No, don't face me. Just promise me that you will."

"I don't know what, why are you--?"

"Just promise me, damn it!"

Roy nodded his head, still bewildered. _What in hell is he raving about_?

"Sure."

He heard a sigh of relief from behind, and he abandoned his fight with curiosity. Pivoting to see the prodigy he met—nothing. He was alone…in an empty corridor…

He was only slightly less cheerful as he reached his office, but the lack was nonetheless unnoticeable. Coffee cup in face, he failed to notice those who had only just recently taken presence within his work space.

"Colonel, sir?"

_Lieutenant. There goes Good Thing Number 1._

Lowering the mug, he noticed that she stood in the middle of the room, but he also observed the other two. Alphonse and Winry sat somberly on the couch, wordlessly reflecting in their own inpenetrable worlds.

Al sat gray faced. He was, oddly enough, only recognizable as himself due to the fact that he was nearly identicle to his brother, if not a bit younger-looking. He looked withdrawn, almost distant.

Winry had positioned herself stiffly, looking down at her hands in a nonconspicuous way to hide the tears. It wasn't effective; bitter sweet rain fell down upon her open palms. Knees clutched together, elbows locked tight across her waist, and wrists firmly placed one on top of the other; hands facing the ceiling.

"Lieutenant? I suppose you'd know—"

"Sir, it's—it's Edward."

She didn't have to say it; he already knew. But something nagged deeply at the back of his mind.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir. We received professional confirmation early this morning."

"_Will you take care of Al and Winry for me?"_ The words struck him suddenly. Edward had insisted that he take care of them…But surely it couldn't have been Ed… _I'd know that shrimp's voice anywhere…_

"Oh, and Colonel?"

"Yes?"

"They're to stay in Central; we're holding a funeral the day after tomorrow. However, we're short on quarters and—"

"They can stay with me, Lieutenant. I have two guest rooms. It'll work nicely."

She nodded curtly, leaving the room intently. He gazed at the two mourners, feeling an abrupt pang of melancholy strike him. Edward was dead… _dead_.

But even as this twinge began to fade, a cold, vice-like grip took his shoulder. And in his ear, a whisper resounded, "_Just don't forget the favor. You promised…you promised…_"

* * *

Bane; "Do you guys like it? I worked over time. And don't worry, Brought to Light should be finished within the next two weeks. And the next chapter for From What We Once Were is already planned out and everything. Keep your eyes open for more frequent updates after Brought to Light comes to a close. (And by the way, chapter 3…or is it 4…? for Limitations is nearly finished. Forgot to work on it, heh So…yeah…"

A; "It's getting' kinda' creepy."

Bane; "It gets creepier, so if you have ghostie issues, I suggest not reading. (I promise it won't get Stephen King-ish or anything like that…but it may get a little jumpy, so be warned.)"


	3. Making Your Presence Known

**Phantasmagoria **

**Chapter 3; Making Your Presence Known **

Bane; -.0! "Questions I have received;

Why is Edward haunting Roy?--- Dunno'...That one's going to be answered over a couple of chapters. Subtly, though. So pay attention.

* * *

There was little conversation as the Colonel finished his last few tasks. He was distracted and rather jumpy. Throughout the day, he had shot fertive glances at the two who rested patiently, still positioned on the couch.

_Get ahold of yourself_, he reasoned sharply,_ You have a wondrous over-production by name of imagination; backed by paranoia_. Yes, that was it. It was the absent-minded day dream of a tired military commander! Surely it wasn't that uncommon…

"I don't suppose you two are ready to leave…?"

He had meant it as a light comic relief—but no such effect occurred. Swiftly grabbing his coat, Roy led the other two out of the Military facility. Their strides made a subtle rhythm upon the parking lot asphalt.

For once, he regretted having his vehicle so close to headquarters; the two sent off a grieviancing aura that seemed to grey the surrounding atmosphere. And he wished no more to be cramped in a small metallic automobile with it, than to become part of it himself.

_There goes Good Thing Number 2_.

* * *

"You sure that's going to be warm enough?" an adept host of a Colonel questioned responsibly.

Winry nodded in response, thanked him again, but graciously took the blanket that was offered to her.

Alphonse had only just gone to bed, choosing, ever since they had arrived at this humble near-mansion of a place, to remain in the silent and melancholy stage he had only recently begun to accommodate.

_Almost makes one want to ask 'hey, who died in here'_? Roy mused sadistically, but shuddering at the thought of saying the phrase aloud. He was saddened, really, but public gloom wasn't his style. He preferred to greive on his own time; in his own way. Of course, he wasn't what one would call 'close' with Edward.

Sighing, he washed up, and made his way into bed. Flicking the lights off, he settled underneath his comforter. With a slight groan of content, Roy closed his eyes. The world blurred as he slipped off into slumber…

…When abruptly, the silence shattered.

"Mustang?"

With a reply that seemed more like a growl, the Colonel didn't open his eyes.

"You're not here. What's not here can not disturb the living. And therefore, you should stop disturbing me."

"I'm sorry…I just don't want her to catch sick…"

"Who to catch sick?"

"Winry…She's cold."

Sighing, but still unwilling to open his eyes and break the ring of warmth and comfort that he lay in, Roy smirked.

"She's fine. I gave her an extra blanket."

There was a pause before the familiar voice spoke again.

"No. It's not enough; she's still freezing."

With an aggrivated grunt the military commander crocked open an eye, but only caught sight of a whisped shadow, which immediately disappeared from sight. Rising from the comfort he had only just encountered, he walked down the hallway. From the corridor closet, Roy withdrew a thick wool blanket.

_Just my bloody imagination._

Stepping lightly into Winry's room, however, he found her shivering fitfully. She was deep in slumber, but something about her was unrestful. He lay the cloth over her quickly, and waited until the trembling ceased. Her face took on a more peaceful vacancy.

_Just my bloody intuition_.

Mustang slipped swiftly into the covers once more, ready to fall asleep. He was expecting it this time, however, when a boyish voice again spoke in a whisper.

"Oh, and Colonel?"

"Yeah?" He hissed back in an irritated snarl.

"Thanks…for all this…I didn't know who else…"

At once, the room seemed more barren, more solitary.

_Just my bloody apparition.

* * *

_

Bane; "Woweea!" –yawn-

A; "What is it?"

Bane; "Tons of updating done. Nearly finished with 'From What We Once Were', I'm fixing something on Brought to Light, I finished up on this chapter, and I have a new actual ORIGINAL story that I think I may turn into an Ed Win fic (and I don't think it's been done before in the way that I did it.) W00t! Yay for updating!"


	4. Amber

**Phantasmagoria **

**Chapter 4; Amber**

Bane; "Loads of mixed emotions in this one. Umm… You've got your average angst, a mournful resting period, humour (since when did I include this in any of my fics, right?), very slight hints at a future romance… And a few more undecided variations. There's a few flashbacks; REMEMBER: these memories occur in a matter of minutes. It's not an hour-long reminescence. Okay? So…er—have fun?"

A; "Have fun?"

Bane; 0.0… "Whaa…what else was I supposed to say?"

A; " 'Be happy.' That's what you _always_ say."

Bane; "Not true!" –indignation- " I say things like 'loads'…and … oh! 'of'… or… 'mixed'… and uhh… 'emotions'!" –satisfied indignation-

A; o.0 "Backing… away…slowly…"

* * *

She woke to the sound of clattering; Alphonse making breakfast. Slipping a heavy blue comforter off her slim figure, Winry stood. Her head was feeling slightly woozy, and her nose was curiously stuffy; an after-effect of having cried herself to sleep. 

She stumbled to the closet, (in which her suitcase lay), intent on picking out a comfortable set of clothing. However, it struck her abruptly that such idle dress wouldn't be appropriate for such a day… They had had his funeral planned for that date… Fumbling fingers traced her baggage, patterns that weren't apparent to anyone else formed beneath her fingertips; as though each swirl of her digit would help the tears to recede… but they never did…

* * *

Drying the beginnings of trickles from her cheeks with frayed night-gown sleeves, she stepped from her room, and directly into the path of one distracted Colonel Roy Mustang. He managed, to a vague point, to stop himself from colliding with her to the ground. He failed, however, to keep his own footing. The proud military official pushed back in a frantic attempt to avoid crashing, and came, ironically, to a spectacular crash upon the quite solid floor. 

He lay in an akward sprawl, and was only aware of his position through her vacantly wide-eyed expression. Miraculously, though, she was still standing. He blushed ruefully, mumbled something that sounded like, 'hurry and get ready.', and made his way down stairs.

She didn't know what to make of this, and resolved not to bother at all… embarrassed Colonels and reality simply did not mix.

Across from her temporary quarters lay the bathroom, into which she stepped.

* * *

The sound of the shower running could be heard even above the sizzling of Bacon, but the Colonel slipped into the kitchen nearly unnoticed. (Alphonse caught sight of him from the corner of his eye.) His face was flushed. Looking tired, and more than a little embarrassed, he had failed to observe that his shirt was inside out. 

Al decided that he would mention it later. Maybe when the man had received a dose of caffeine…

* * *

The harsh rupturing of the showerhead stung gently on her back. Not that she would notice; her head was lost in thought. Rich tiling of the surrounding wall slipped in and out of a reminescence that changed with the slightest passing of her notions. 

"_I told you not to play in the creek."a somber Winry scolded half-heartedly. In truth, she knew that he hadn't been playing… but guilt always hurt so much less if one could pretend that reasons were non-existant._

_Edward looked up at her, and said nothing, but reached a bandaged, poison-ivy tainted arm into his pocket. What he brought out of the pocket was small, but the effort of such a find was enough. It squawked in an attempt at dignifying itself once more; the squat figure of it giving Winry a slight tremor._

"_You really shouldn't have gone after it. Poor thing—"_

_But he laid it within her out-stretched palms, and reveled in how her eyes widened marvelously._

"_Yeah; but you said you wanted to catch it…"_

_The five-year-old beside her smirked triumphantly, still unaware of what the strange feeling that welled inside of him at her smile would develop into._

_She hugged him, frog still in hand. _

_It would be the next day that she would know what it felt like to receive poison ivy for herself, though she never did tell Edward it was his fault. The amphibian lived in a tank for a good three years, getting fat and content off flies and…sugar lumps.

* * *

_

"She's taking a while." The Colonel observed non-chalantly in a dull murmur.

Alphonse didn't reply, simply shrugging. He knew why; for he had gotten up earlier simply to enjoy the luxury of remaining under water and just… thinking… Something nobody truly realized that they almost never did.

* * *

"_What'cha' doing?"_

_Her small voice was barely a whisper, but it was loud enough for him. In a slightly annoyed growl, he responded shortly, "Drawin'."_

_This, of course, was not fitting enough to satisfy the tempermental curiosity of a girl such as Winry._

"_What'cha' drawin'?"_

_Edward remained silent, his tongue taking its place at his lower lip in concentration. When, at last, he could take no more of her staring, he passed her a sketch-pad. The grass below them shuddered at the exchange, snickering breezily for their innocence. _

_Her glare had disappeared, and what had been a scowl of impatience contorted into one of wonder. Just as he was a prodigy of alchemy, he was a right brilliant anomaly at illustration. _

_There were a great many pages, most filled with airy outlines of birds, or fluffed tresses of trees. _

"_They're so…"_

_She left off, still leafing through each page as though she would never again see such mastery._

_He, in turn, simply shrugged._

"_I just practice styles a lot."_

_She handed it back cordially. Still, he paused, waiting for something even he obviously didn't know of. And still, she smiled at him expectantly._

"_Hey… Ed?"_

"_Yeah?" His light, unsettled nine-year-old voice replied plainly._

"_D-Do you think I could watch you draw?"_

_He was somewhat started by this._

"_Uhm, sure, Win. But… why?"_

"'_Cause I love your drawings. I wanna' watch you make them." _

_Edward nodded, grinning broadly now.He finished the sketchbook that very day—and Winry was overjoyed when she received it the next day._

"_Now you won't have to picture the pictures."

* * *

_

Her foot hit the soak-mat, and with a heavy heart she slipped a towel around her. Her hands worked without her real presence. Clumsily, Winry dried herself and set to putting on the soul-wrenching black attire she had only recently chosen for such an occasion. Bitter tears melded into her already damp cheek, but she didn't pay them much mind until it occurred to her that, unlike Edward had, she never looked like she hadn't been crying. Her face always reddened with the moist melancholy.

Resolving to wash he face, Winry pushed her sleeves up without much care to wrinkling and brought a hand-full of water to her visage. The fluid felt good against her skin in the steam of the condensation. She brought a washcloth to her face to dry it, then looked up into the mirror that hung in alignment above the sink.

Her heart might as well have stopped, dead cold.

For in the glass, a symbol had been made. A heart, like those on Valentines day was sketched into the foggy reflections. It was strange and rather off-beat, sharper than it should have been at the point. But even as she watched, tubes, rather like the valves of arteries found one a _human_ heart were being 'penciled' in by something she couldn't see. Panicked, she looked wildly around.

"W-who's there?"

No reply; the drawing continued to progress. Drops of water began to form, obviously the fog collecting enough to drip down as minute 'streams'. But even that turned to an edge, as each molded into a mild crimson, the clear cutting into it, and remaining only half of each foggy tear. They continued to drip down, the claret forming trails down the mirror in agonizingly slow paths.

But she didn't scream until two eyes could be seen at the center of the masterpiece, two gaunt forms, haunted by the charismatic amber. Now, the tears were hers, running down her face as she backed away into the opposing wall.

Winry collapsed to the floor, shaking with her sobs.

"No! It's..n-n-ot there… he… n-no!"

The clatter of footfall on aged steps could be heard, and one single knock sounded before the door burst open. Abruptly, warm arms enclosed her, and she could hear Alphonse's voice carrying out stunted words that she barely made out above her own distress.

"H-he… and… t-the picture… I used t-t-to love his… pi-pictures…"

_Silly_, she scolded herself, _to make such a fuss about something you know isn't real._

And yet, she couldn't stop crying, the tears taking each needle of mourning away from her heart. Roy stood to the side, knowing fullwell whom she was ranting about. And he sat at the edge of the shower, arms around himself.

His eyes were widened and, had he been alive, seemingly bloodshot. Even in his deceased state, he shook, rocking back and forth murmuring, "I-I didn't mean to…"

Wishing only to see the backs of his eye-lids, Mustang closed his eyes, but could not block out the horrid murmuring of either one of them.

"It's alright, Ms. Rockbell. You mustn't have been really awake."

She nodded silently, her eyes darting warily around the room as though scanning for something she wasn't sure was even possible.

_She can't see him_, Roy realized suddenly, and simaltaneously concluded that it was even more likely for him to be a complete loon.

Edward had begun to pace, now, shuddering every few steps, and all the while muttering excuses. He reasoned to himself that he hadn't known, and went into a long, incoherant rant about the missing link. Mustang hardly noticed; he couldn't bear to look at him.

"She used to love my drawings… She—She said they had soul, and how they _showed _the pain that I myself couldn't. Why… Why won't she love it anymore? Why doesn't it have soul?"

He sobbed to two deaf pairs of ears, and one sharpened stone of a military official.

* * *

Bane; "I hope you guys set your angst scale up." 

A; "I sort of… didn't get most of the first flash back."

Bane; "Umm…Yeah, well… you mostly had to read between the lines. What occurred was this; Winry wanted to catch a frog, but couldn't. It escaped her, and Edward went after it. Even knowing that there was poison ivy, he went forth, and eventually caught it. A few hours later, he's listening to the whistful, and guilty scolding of Winry, when… bu-yah! He shows her the frog. Fuzzy feelings. Get it now?"

A; "Could you be any more sarcastic?"

Bane; "Umm… No. I stopped being sarcastic to join the circus and write fanfiction."

A; -.-' "Yeah…"

Bane; :-shifty eyes-: "Anyway; sorry its short, but there was some mild EdxWin fluff. And next chapter should be a bit longer… Funerals always are…" :–maniacal laughter-:

* * *

Bane; "As a VERY IMPORTANT side note, I've been sick for the last two days, and... they think I have appendicitis... So if I don't update for a while, you know why... but I'm trying my best, really. I love you guys!"


	5. Achieving Peace

**Phantasmagoria**

**Chapter 5; Achieving Peace

* * *

**

Bane; "It's sad, it's lonely, and it's humorous in one. I do go so far as to skim over the body; but in a poetic sense; not NEARLY like From What We Once Were. (So eat happy!)"

Bane; "In any case, I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. It turns out it isn't appendicitis… (so my mom's totally wrong.)… After I got checked, they became concerned with headaches I've been having along with the stomach pains. (DOES IT NEVER END?)

My (extremely annoying) doctor decided that my frequent headaches and all that jazz were due to caffeine. (Not insanity, thank you, so Drumstick, PAY UP!) They confiscated my tea, without which writing was tedious and wearying. Hah, but the 'diet' only lasts for 2 weeks. My agony ends in ( 2 days) and then I can go back and say it in her face; 'I WIN.' And then of course I'll go back to my caffeine-consuming habits, and continue to finish my fanfics. Until then, I managed to scrape together something to hopefully appease you all. Hope you like it…"

A; "So why is it that you're without fuel, and you're _still_ hyper?"

Bane; "It's an internal clock thing. Give it another two days and I'll stop ticking."

Drumstick; "What a shame. Will reviewage keep you going?"

Bane; :-shifty eyes-: "Why, I don't know. I've never tried it before.. But it might just work…"

* * *

Bane; " Just for old time's sake, I'll say it. I DO NOT OWN FULL METAL ALCHEMIST. Good. Now that I've got that off my chest..."

* * *

It was in silence that they all prepared, and left in a suitingly black vehicle. It had taken Winry a good ten minutes to stop shaking, but her wordless 'trance' was somewhat worse than her trembling. Roy didn't mention it, instead attempting to convince himself that he was simply hallucinating. 

Perhaps a half-hour later, they arrived at a substantially large cemetary, where a building had been placed at the border of the gate. It was into this building that they filed, walking lethargically as though the living dead.

Inside were a few connecting rooms, where Hughes was attempting to quiet the curious Elysia ("Will Ed be here?"), Riza was fighting the urge to shoot at Havoc, Jean was trying to piece back together a seemingly expensive vase, and Fury watched, struggling not to laugh at the antics in a show of respect.

There was a good deal of handshaking, and a _great_ deal of 'condolances'. Both of which seemed to make the situatoon more real, and perhaps more terrifying.

Winry, who could not understand why there wasn't a showing of the body, asked one of the attendance women.

"He isn't dressed to be seen, M'adam."

"We're like family to him; none of us mind what he's in." She demanded forcefully. Al stood beside her quietly, whispering things like, '_Winry, maybe there's a reason—_' and '_don't yell at the poor woman_'. The attendance woman, incidentally, looked nervous and uncertain.

"I-I'm sure you can speak to the manager about it."

The manager, after enduring Winry's fury for a few minutes, gave in. He attempted to hint at why there had been no showing of the body in the first place, but she would have none of it. He led her back into one of the fore-rooms, where there lay several caskets.

"Perhaps you shouldn't see this—"

One glare gave him a brisk new pace. It was a few momets before he had unsealed it, and he opened it to reveal a mangled and unimpressive cadavera. This was not the boy that had lost his mother and remained fearless. This was not the adolescent that had journeyed for the redemption—not for himself, but for his brother. And this was not the man that had bartered his own life in exchange for that of his younger sibling's. This was a twisted and mishapen corpse that showed only how he had died—not how he had lived. His open, golden eyes were now crimson, and his soft, hay-colored hair was limp and dyed with his own dried blood.

She closed the casket.

"T-thank you."

And with that, she left the room, going back to sit with Alphonse and the others as though nothing had happened. Her heart knew better.

* * *

"Well, I suppose we can all agree that there never was such a temper." He began, earning a few chuckles and quite a few smiles. 

Roy, being a highly-respected military official who worked occaisionally with the boy, had been asked to do a 'remembrance speech'. The great many that had been affected by the prodigy sat in rows before him, listening intently.

"But then, we can also agree that there was never such a determination. I- uh, I met him at the age of twelve. Even then, he was a genius at alchemy. But it wasn't just through alchemy that he was great. And I think that the proof of the lies in his brother—Alphonse Elric." A few spared a glance at the younger sibling who sat near the front.

Lonely amber eyes wandered to those who had attended his funeral. He was slumped against the coffin, fighting the way his imprint kept reverting back to the way his actual body was. It was the way things worked when you were too close to what you had been once; there could be no more illusions of far away appearances. Past always caught up to the present.

"He… uh… He wasn't someone who could shrink back against a challenge. Edward fought for a redemption not all of us agreed he needed. But that doesn't matter now. I suppose, bluntly put, it isn't something that _should_ matter. He died a good man, a devoted brother, and, though he may have loathed to admit it, a goddamnably incredible State Alchemist." There was an appreciative, but solemn (1) applause.

A man swathed in formal black robes stepped onto the podium in Mustang's absence (for he had immediately taken his place among the rows), and proceeded to read a short passage from a worn leather book.

Winry held her head in her hands, and Alphonse kept his eyes closed. Neither of them could think of anything other than the sacrifices the boy had made.

Several shots were fired into the air, and the casket was lain into the ground. There was silence, all but for a few light sobs. Edward flicked his hair up, as though bored, but although Roy pretended not to notice him, he observed that something on his face portrayed a hint of sober flush.

"_Didn't know so many people cared_…"

* * *

They all gathered into a large reception room, whereas there was no exchange of conversation until someone (it was later unconfirmed _who_) switched on a lighthearted bout of music. A dull murmur of 'to his memory' errupted. 

The bravest of the crowd came from the outskirts of the room and began to dance, which soon became a large throng as more joined in. Rolling chairs were brought out, which were, ironically, for the man to stand on as they were 'led', or wheeled, around by their dancing partner.

Winry overheard two military men chuckling, "I guess Edward would have had to dance like that, to tell you the truth. Never saw such a shrimp—"

A wrought-iron wrench collided solidly with the back of the man's head. _This is some parody to them_? _We're at a funeral—his funeral—and their acting as though it's funny!_

"What in hell is wrong with you? You're sick—ALL OF YOU!"

The music had stopped and people were stopping to stare. Winry, still abashed by this obvious lack of respect, was screeching now.

"We're having a funeral—a FUNERAL, you bastards! If you don't think he was tall enough for you, then you can get the hell out! He… d-deserves better than you all picking fun while he's… j-just been lain in the… -hic- ground!"

Tears streamed down her face as she attempted to reproach and fight her sobs simaltaneaously.

"A-and…. If y-y-you think… you c-can—"

It was at this point that a very flustered Hughes grabbed hold of her.

"G-geroff!" she sniffled hopelessly.

"Ms. Rockbell, can I speak to you outside for a moment?"

It wasn't a demand, nor was it a question. The whispered words seemed more like a comment; something declarative. Unsure, Winry nodded.

She was led unceremoniously into a back room, plain and grey in decoration. Although Winry hardly studied her surroundings keenly through her blearily livid gaze, she could tell quite easily that something about Maes was off. His almost permanent grin had sauntered somewhere out of sight, and his usual kinetic and ever-bouncy disposition had taken a turn for the worse. Hughes looked more tired, and perhaps more worn than she had ever seen him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but not before she had broken down, rage melting into liquid fire that stung as it fell down her cheeks. Never had her tears felt this bitter. Her words stumbled over her sobs, "H-how c-c-can they do this? How can they pre-pretend that he isn't…" she paused a moment, then screamed violently into her hands,

"AND YOU! HOW CAN YOU DISGRACE HIS MEMORY BY POKING FUN ON THE NIGHT OF HIS _FUNERAL_?"

Edward stood at a distance behind, wishing he could reach in and be heard. He longed for five minutes in which Winry could hear him; could see him. He reached forward, knowing somehow that it would work. He placed a hand within Hughes, the limb disappearing within solidness. He gentle made a space within the man for his own whispy imprint to enter.

Maes was about to console her; to explain—before a sudden shift from within him took place.

"It's… just so damn sick."

Winry, had she been looking up instead of attempting to wipe the tears from her eyes, she would have noticed the way he froze. It took only a second before he had relaxed again… nearly transparent amber eyes blinking with concern where those of green had once been.

The feel of moving a hand, although not that of his own, around the girl's shoulders, and of speaking in a whisper he knew could be the only thing to calm her was almost new. Almost familiar.

"It sounds sick when you say it that way, Win. I—I mean, Edward wouldn't have seen it like that. It's like a tribute, you see? Uhhm, _he _would have wanted everyone to move on. Ed would have wanted everyone to find their own feet again and keep up with their own lives. This is thei—er, _our_ solution against exactly what he didn't want, Winry. He didn't want mourning. He wanted celebration; for Al. Can you bring yourself to join the crowd? To show him that you can respect what he wanted, Win? "

She nodded tearfully.

The undispensable experience of knowing weight in one's heartbeat, of understanding the solidness of one's shell coursed through him in waves of irrepressable sadness.

_I_'_ll never know this again_, he realized.

Bringing her into a tight hug, he said, below the volume of a breath, "_Could you ever respect all of it_?" She didn't hear it through her sniffling.

"You're right, Mr. Hughes. I think I get it now…" she continued on as he pulled away. Green eyes blinked with confusion.

"But I didn't—"

Winry wasn't listening. She had already started out the door, and joined the swelling crowd. Maes sighed, shrugged, and followed her. The teen watching from the wall behind said nothing more, simply smirking openly.

_This is going to be a long night_, he thought exasperatedly. Sudden images of men on rolling chairs to dance, and then, to himself, he added, _Not short… just not a giant like everyone else. Yeah… That's it. They're just tall. Every single… one of them… yeah…_

He faded out of sight, missing a stomach to have sunk with his newest realization.

* * *

(1)Bane; "I played the Funeral by ear, so sorry folks, if I didn't get the whole process right..."

* * *

Bane; "I have half of 'Listless' and 'From What We Once Were' done, so expect another update within the next week!" 

:-dancing-:


End file.
